


The Siren in the Tower

by SunflowerSupreme



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Dandelion as a Siren, Gen, Geralt is still a Witcher, it’s almost Rapunzel but it’s not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22394977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: He wasn’t certain what exactly he’d been expecting to find when he’d taken the contract, but somehow, an actual tower in the middle of the woods wasn’t it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 90
Kudos: 318





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I floated the idea of a Tower AU in [Does porn need a title](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22383166) and people were really interested in it.
> 
> The description of Dandelion’s outfit comes straight from The Sword of Destiny.

Geralt looked up at the tower with a raised eye. “Huh,” he said.

He wasn’t certain what exactly he’d been expecting to find when he’d taken the contract, but somehow, an actual tower in the middle of the woods wasn’t it.

> _“You’re a witcher?” the man asked._
> 
> _“No,” replied Geralt dryly. “I only mutated my body for fun.” The speaker still seemed confused, so the Witcher said, “Yes. I am a Witcher. I take it you have a job for me?”_
> 
> _The man nodded. “Theres a creature.”_
> 
> _“There usually is.”_
> 
> _As usual, Geralt’s humor wasn’t exactly appreciated. But the man, like most who sought out a Witcher, brushed it off. “We need you to kill it.”_
> 
> _“It would help if I knew what it was.”_
> 
> _“A siren.”_
> 
> _Geralt raised an eyebrow. “A siren?” he repeated in disbelief. “The ocean is a hundred miles from here.”_
> 
> _“It lives in a tower.”_
> 
> _“A siren that lives in a tower in the woods- are you certain?” He doubted it was a siren. Perhaps there truly was a creature of some sort, but not a Siren._
> 
> _“Yes. Will you kill it?”_
> 
> _“Sirens are intelligent,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “Is it dangerous?” If they only wanted the creature dead because it was different - well, they’d asked the wrong Witcher. He wouldn’t kill an intelligent creature unless it was hurting people._
> 
> _“It steals from us,” the man said. “Enchants the folk to bring it food and goods.”_

He put his hands on his hips and looked up, studying the tower. It was built beside a cliff, and a pipe - supplying water, no doubt - ran from the cliff into the tower.

“This is getting weirder,” he complained to Roach. The horse nickered in reply.

He’d heard singing - Siren Song no doubt - as he had ridden up, but it hadn’t affected him thanks to the mutations. So there was a Siren, and there was a Tower. Now he just needed to know what the hell either was doing in a tower in the middle of the woods.

Geralt circled around the base of the tower, but there was no visible way in. Finally, with a grunt, he began scaling it.

His shoulders protested and ached, but he didn’t stop, determined to reach the top by midday. Soon he was climbing in through a window, finding himself in what appeared to be a library. “What the hell?” Books lined the walls of the circular chamber, thick rugs covered the floor, and the furniture - of which there was a lot - was all finely made.

There was no way it had been stolen from the villagers, Geralt doubted any of them possessed a fraction of the wealth that was on display in that room.

“They sent you to kill me?”

He spun sharply. Cornflower blue eyes glittered in the darkness. A young man was sitting in the corner of the room, one eyebrow raised. He was dressed in the oddest garments - which only deepened the mystery because there was no way they could have come from the villagers - a blue kaftan with puffed sleeves and a serrated collar. Perched jauntily on his head, was a plum hat with an egret feather. A leather-bound tome was in his lap.

“You’re the Siren?”

“I thought I was,” replied the Siren, “but it seems my song doesn’t affect you, which is truly, truly distressing, because I would prefer you weren’t here at all.”

“I’d prefer that you had stairs like a normal person.”

The Siren only laughed. “Are you going to kill me? Because I was in the middle of a translation, and it would be horribly disappointing if you got blood on it, so if you wouldn’t mind, allow me to set it aside before you run me through.”

“Translating?”

“Poems from Elder Speech to Common,” explained the Siren, sitting the book that had been in his lap aside. He closed it and gave it a fond pat. “Well? Make it quick, please. I do so hate pain.”

Geralt snorted. He hadn’t even thought about reaching for his blade. “Do you want me to kill you?”

“Oh? I get a say in the matter do I? Well, in that case, I decidedly enjoy life and would prefer to stay living, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’m supposed to deliver your head to the Ealdorman.”

“Damn, what a pickle.”

Geralt pulled up a chair, sitting across from the creature. For a long moment, they studied one another in silence. Finally, Geralt said, “I feel I’ve been lied to.”

“I imagine you have. What did they tell you about me, pray tell? Am I a horrible creature that lures women to their deaths? Or perhaps I force them to climb my tower into my bed?”

“I was told you force them to bring you supplies, but I can see that’s not true.” He gestured around the room, at the books and other finery. “This didn’t come from the village.”

“You’re quite right,” said the Siren. “I doubt any of those cockheads can read.”

“Why are you here?” Geralt asked.

“If I give you a good answer, will you leave?”

“I’d prefer the truth if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’m cursed,” said the Siren with a sigh. “I cannot leave the tower or I will die. The mage that locked me here provided me with the comforts you see, but - if not for the villagers - I would have starved.”

“I still can’t let you steal from them.”

“Then kill me, Witcher, because that would be preferable to starving to death.”

“I don’t kill things that I can reason with.”

The Siren leaned forward, and there was irritation in eyes. “You can’t reason with me,” he said. “Because I’m not going to allow myself to starve in this tower. I’ll keep calling the humans here and they will keep bringing me food. So your options, sir Witcher, are to either run me through or leave.”

He sat back, folding his arms over his chest.

“So?” asked the Siren again. “Am I to live or die, sir Witcher?”

“I haven’t decided,” lied Geralt.

The creature was suddenly in Geralt’s lap, one hand on the Witcher’s shoulder, one on his crotch. “Perhaps I could…. Convince you?” he purred. “It’s been many years since I last took a lover to bed, but I’m told I was once very, very good at it.”

“No, thank you.” He pushed the creature off his lap, then grabbed the back of his shirt and drug him toward the window.

The Siren screeched and clawed at his throat, struggling in Geralt’s grasp. “Please!” he sobbed. “Don’t throw me! Please!”

“Shut up,” said the Witcher. “I’m only trying to get a good look at you.”

He tossed the man to the floor near the window, where the light streamed in and made it easy to study him. Although Geralt could see well in low light, there were details that he had previously overlooked that the sun brought to light: the man was horribly thin, almost bony, and pale. His hair - though clean and styled - had taken on the brittle appearance of someone accustomed to going without food, and his fingers were blistered and red. He looked young, no older than twenty, but something told Geralt he was far, far older than that.

“Please,” the Siren whispered, tears glittering in his blue eyes. “Please let me live.”

“I’m not going to get mixed up in this mess,” he said finally.

The creature sat up, his eyes widening, “You mean-”

“I won’t kill you. And I won’t tell you that you should stop pestering the villagers.”

“Oh, thank you!” The Siren’s face lit up, his eyes glowing.

Geralt nodded to the window he’d entered through. “Is there an easier way out?” he asked.

“No,” said the Siren mournfully. “You could stay,” he offered quickly. “I’m _dying_ for company.”

“I doubt I’d be very pleasant company,” growled Geralt. He stepped back out the window, finding the handholds that he’d used to get into the tower.

The Siren hurried after him, leaning over the edge of the window. “Goodbye, sir Witcher,” he said, giving Geralt a smile. His teeth were slightly pointed.

“My name is Geralt,” he grumbled. “Goodbye Siren.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Try as he might, he couldn’t get the creature’s pale face out of his thoughts.

Geralt had been determined to get as far away from the creature, the tower, and the damn town as he could, but he’d barely made it out of sight of the tower before he was reconsidering.

_The man was starving._

“It’s not my problem,” he told Roach. She flicked her ears. “I mean, he pissed off a mage and got locked in a tower, why should I help him?”

She snorted.

Geralt sighed, then turned Roach in the direction of the village. “Do you think Sirens like fish?”

* * *

The next morning found Geralt standing once again at the bottom of the tower. “Siren!” he shouted, but there was no answer.

He contemplated leaving, he could even leave the bag of food at the bottom of the tower, but instead found himself tying Roach to a tree, slinging the back over his shoulder, and grabbing a rope he’d purchased in town.

It had a metal took on the end, and after a few practice tosses, he was able to hook it over a gargoyle on the tower’s roof, just above the window he’d used the day before.

Then he started the climb. With his rope, it was much easier than the day before, and soon he was standing in the library. But there was no sign of the Siren. “Siren?”

Nothing answered.

He ran his eyes over the room, taking in the details that he’d missed the day before. The room’s contents, which at first glance were ostentatious and elaborate, were, on the second examination, well worn and repaired. Perhaps they'd been acquired second hand. He ran his hand over a patch on a chair, then scanned the bookshelf.

A diploma was sitting there, in a leather-bound case with Oxenfurt’s emblem on the cover. He picked it up and opened it curiously. It was made out to _Julian Alfred Pankratz_ and dated only about a decade previously. Julian had apparently graduated top of his class.

Geralt frowned, sitting the diploma back down, and resuming his search for the Siren. He stepped through a door and found himself at the top of a circular set of stairs.

He followed it down, curving along the tower’s wall. On the next floor, he heard water splashing. He peeked out a window and wasn’t surprised to see that he was on the same level as the pipe that came from one of the cliffs, which brought fresh water into the tower.

There he found a large pool. The water from the pipe poured in, filling the pool with fresh, clean water. Two eyes peered out of the water and the Siren’s head slowly emerged, looking at Geralt with large, cornflower blue eyes.

“You like fish?” Geralt asked, holding up his bag.

The Siren nodded slowly, his eyes fixing on the bag, desire shining in them. He licked his lips.

The creature clamored out of the water, seemingly not at all bothered that he was entirely nude, and took the bag Geralt held out to it, sniffing it. Then he ripped it open, biting into one of the fish raw.

“Caught this morning,” Geralt said.

“Yesterday morning, perhaps,” said the creature with a grin, blood oozing from his lips.

“I was lied to,” Geralt said with a shrug.

The Siren snorted, taking another bloody bite of his meal. He looked human, even undressed, with the body of a young man. In fact, the only thing that set him apart was the barely visible gills on the sides of his neck.

“My father was human,” said the Siren. He grinned. Clearly he’d noticed Geralt studying him.

“Your mother was a Siren?” Geralt guessed.

The Siren nodded. He finally finished the fish he’d pulled from the bag, and - instead of grabbing another and devoting it as Geralt expected - he leaped back into the water, popping up a moment later after the blood washed off him.

“Thank you, Geralt,” said the Siren, his eyes glittering. He finally gathered up a robe, wrapping it around his thin frame. Then he looked up at the Witcher. “You came back.”

“You’re cursed,” Geralt said, folding his arms over his chest. “I’ll break the curse and you can stop troubling the townsfolk.”

The creature paused, then turned back to study Geralt. Finally, he said, “Not all curses can be broken, Geralt.” Then he vanished up the staircase, taking the bag of fish with him.

Geralt followed after him with a frown. “Do you not want the curse broken, Siren?” he asked.

The siren shrugged, sitting down in a chair near the fire, studying Geralt intently. “Perhaps I like making the humans take care of me,” he said with a smirk.

He shook his head. “You’re starving Siren,” he said. “And possibly anemic. You stay in this tower: you die.”

“Well, if I had a more steady supply of food, perhaps I wouldn’t.” The Siren gave him an insolent smile, tilting his head and peering up at Geralt almost seductively.

“No,” said Geralt, shaking his head. “I’ll break the curse for you, but that’s all. I won’t be your lackey.”

“You can’t break it,” said the Siren, giving a firm shake of his head. “I’m sorry Geralt, but you can’t.”

Geralt studied him. “You’re not telling me everything.”

“Why should I?” replied the creature. “You’ve come into my home twice uninvited, brandishing a weapon and demanding to know my secrets.”

“I’m trying to help you!”

“You were paid to kill me!”

“I haven’t received payment yet.”

“Oh, I feel so much better!” spat the Siren, baring his teeth at Geralt. He stood, dusting off his robe, heading for a ladder in the back of the room. “I’m going to bed. Goodbye Geralt.”

Geralt thought about letting him go, about washing his hands of the entire mess, but then he said, “I thought you wanted company.”

The creature stopped on the bottom rung, then turned back to look on Geralt. For a moment, he looked painfully young. “I do,” he said. “But-”

“Not mine?” Geralt guessed. "I'm used to that." 

The Siren gave a soft shake of his head. “It’s not that its- I’m used to being alone.”

Geralt glanced toward the window. “I’m meant to be in another town in a few days,” he said. “I’ll stop by once I’ve handled the Kikimora.”

“You will?” The Siren clearly didn’t believe him, but he gave Geralt a smile anyway. “Thank you, Geralt. You're a good liar.” Then he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt spent the next week convincing himself that he shouldn’t go back.

The Siren had caused his own problems: pissed off a mage, and thrown away his offer of help. But for some reason, once he’d taken care of the Kikimora, he found himself traveling back to the village where the entire mess had started. He walked into the bar where he found the man who’d given him the contract to begin with.

“What do you know about the Siren?” he asked.

The man’s face fell. “It ain’t dead yet?”

Geralt didn’t reply, shifting the subject instead, “How long has it been there?”

“About a decade now, sir.”

The Witcher nodded. That matched with the diploma he’d found in the tower, leading him to believe that Julian was the creature’s real name. “And that’s all you know about it?”

“That’s all sir,” said the man. Geralt wrinkled his nose. He stank of lies.

“I’ll let you know when it’s dead,” he lied, turning on his heel and stomping to the market.

He spent the afternoon asking for information on the creature. Anything they could give him.

Mysteriously, they claimed to know nothing about him. But every one of them stank of lies and fear.

“I hate this town,” he growled to Roach, leading her down the road. “Something about this Siren - they’re not telling me everything and I can’t trust them.” The mare nickered and flicked her ears in understanding.

Not that he intended to kill the Siren either way, but it would be nice to have a better idea of what he was getting involved with if he was going to try to break the creature’s curse.

He picked up fish - demanding the freshest catch this time - and took Roach back down the winding trail to the creature’s tower.

The siren was in his sitting room when Geralt scrambled up the rope. When he saw the Witcher, his mouth dropped open in shock. “Geralt!” he trilled, sitting aside the book he’d been reading. “You came back!”

Geralt tossed him the bag of fish with a grunt. The Siren ripped it open happily, then trotted over to the fireplace to cook his meal. “You know,” he said as he knelt beside the hearth. “I was truly convinced that you weren’t coming back. But I am incredibly grateful to see that I was wrong.”

The Witcher sat in a chair without an invitation, making himself comfortable. “What’s your name?” he asked finally. He had his suspicions regarding the creature’s name, most likely it was the same as the diploma that he’d found, but he wanted the Siren’s confirmation.

The Siren paused, then looked over his shoulder, large eyes glittering. “Dandelion,” he said after a moment. “My name is Dandelion.”

Geralt snorted.

“What?” asked Dandelion, looking rather offended. “It’s the name I chose, so what bothers you about it so much?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” said Geralt. “It just amuses me.”

Dandelion scoffed.

* * *

Geralt wasn’t certain he could call them friends - Dandelion called them that, but he suspected Dandelion would call anyone who talked to him a friend - but he did find himself hanging around the area. Thankfully, he’d had a few decent contracts and had no real need for work, so the few monsters he could get contracts on would tide him over. The villagers nearest the tower were none too happy that the creature was still alive, and Geralt’s continued promises to deal with it ‘soon’ didn’t seem to be appeasing them.

He spent nearly two weeks visiting Dandelion every few days, and although the creature talked a great deal, it was never about himself. He wanted to hear about Geralt and his monsters, promising to compose ballads about it. But he wouldn’t tell anything about the mage that had cursed him or any way to break the curse. Any mention of that and he would clam up and tell Geralt he should come back later.

He should have seen trouble coming, in all honesty.

* * *

He’d half expected the Siren to be waiting for him - surely he’d heard him fumbling up the ladder - but there was no sign of him as he stepped in through the window. “Dandelion?” he called.

There was no answer.

“Must be swimming,” he mused. But the Siren wasn’t in the pool, so he went to the only other level in the tower: through the ladder in the library’s ceiling that he’d never traveled before.

As he stepped off the ladder and found himself in a chamber with a slanted roof, he realized he’d found the Siren’s bedroom.

“Geralt?” the voice was cracked and weak and he turned, scanning his eyes over the room until he located the Siren, curled on a pile of cushions in the corner.

“Dandelion?” He hurried forward, sitting beside him, resisting the urge to reach out to touch his face. Something was horribly wrong. The Siren’s face was red and swollen, lips cracking and bleeding, eyes crusted with gunk. His gills, however, seemed to have fared the worst, and were weeping green pus.

“My water,” rasped the Siren. “They poisoned it.”

Geralt stared at him in horror.


	4. Chapter 4

“How quickly will the poison filter out of the pool?”

“I don’t know.”

Geralt picked him up, carefully putting him over his shoulder as he climbed down the ladder, then carrying him in his arms to the pool. He knelt beside the water, sniffing, then tasted it. Thankfully, the water drained out through a hole in the bottom of the pool, feeding into a shallow stream at the base of the tower, and it seemed to his senses that the poison was gone.

“I can’t smell anything.”

Dandelion poked a finger into the water, then licked it. “Clean,” he whispered.

Geralt helped him to undress, then placed him in a smaller tub, filling buckets from the main pool and putting them beside an empty fireplace. There was no kindling in the tower, so he broke up an old chair, lighting it with Igni, to warm the buckets. Dandelion shivered as Geralt waited for the water to warm, so he pulled him out of the tub and held him against his chest, rubbing his back.

“Was it the villagers?”

“I didn’t see them,” replied the Siren. “But who else would want me dead?”

Geralt dipped a rag into the main pool, then, using his thumb, carefully wiped around Dandelion’s inflamed eyes. The Siren whimpered a bit, but didn’t ask him to stop.

With the buckets finally warm, Geralt put Dandelion back into the tub, pouring the water in with him. Then he walked to the cabinet of bathing supplies. There wasn’t much, and what there was seemed mostly empty. He found a bar of soap that was worn to a nub and a few scented oils.

“I’m going to get my saddlebag,” he said. “I need herbs.”

“Don’t go,” the Siren whined, but Geralt hushed him.

“I’ll be back.”

He’d never climbed as fast as he did getting out of the tower, and grabbed his saddlebag, slinging it over his shoulder before hurrying back up the rope and then through the tower to Dandelion.

The Siren was right where he’d left him, soaking in the warm water. He looked up as Geralt entered, blinking at him with pain filled eyes. “I’m back, Dandelion,” he promised.

He sat beside the tub, fumbling in his bag for a glass vial filled with a solution that he hoped wouldn’t hurt the Siren. Then he poured it onto a rag. “Tilt your head.”

“Don’t touch my gills.”

Geralt paused, his hand hovering over the Siren’s neck. “They’re infected,” he said.

Wide, fear-filled eyes met his, and the Siren sniffed. “I- I- please, Geralt. Don’t touch them. I don’t like people touching my gils.”

“Dandelion,” he said softly. “I swear, I won’t touch them again-” but the edges of the gills were red and weeping green puss which stank of rot and disease.

Dandelion’s breathing quickened and he stared at Geralt for a long moment before he finally nodded, then tilted his head to one side so Geralt could access the closest gills.

He moved carefully, placing the rag against the skin directly below his gills, then wiping in a smooth motion around it, giving Dandelion a chance to get used to the sensation. Then he used his free hand to lift the lowest flap, running the cloth along it.

Dandelion gasped when he lifted the gill, but didn’t try to pull away, letting Geralt carefully wipe away the puss. Then he moved to the next flap.

By the time he’d finished the first side, Dandelion was panting. As soon as Geralt’s hand withdrew, the Siren dunked himself underwater. He emerged a moment later. “Its like choking,” he said softly.

“Dandelion I-”

“I know, Geralt.”

Geralt cleaned the other side as quickly as he could, then let the Siren duck back into the water.

He stayed under long enough that Geralt began to worry, then he reminded himself - firmly - that Dandelion was a fucking Siren, he wasn’t about to drown.

When he finally emerged, he looked better than before, some of the redness had faded from his face, and he seemed relaxed, although his forehead still creased in pain.

“T-thank you, Geralt,” he murmured, closing his eyes and leaning back. The edges of his gills were still red and swollen, but no where near as much as they had been. And they no longer seemed to be clogged with pus or blood, something Geralt considered to be a win.

“What happened?” Geralt asked again, hoping he would be able to get a full answer from the creature.

Dandelion shrugged. “The villagers don’t like me,” he said, not for the first time.

Geralt wanted to ask more questions, to point out the holes in the story - both what he had been told by Dandelion and by the villagers - but the siren looked timid and exhausted, it seemed cruel to push him. Instead he sighed, nodded, and decided to take it at face value. _You can’t stay here_ , he wanted to say, _let me break the damn curse_.

Instead he patted Dandelion’s shoulder. “I brought food,” he said softly.

Bright blue eyes gleamed as the siren looked up at him. “Thank you,” he said, sounding almost in awe. Geralt only shrugged in response. What else would he have come to the tower for? His semi-regular visits had brought about a positive change in the creature, he was finally gaining weight, no longer quite so skeletal.

If only he could get more of the story.

“I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” announced Dandelion.

“You’ve had shit friends.”


	5. Chapter 5

After he helped him out of the water, Geralt carried the Siren upstairs, then deposited him in his favorite seat by the window. “I brought food,” he said, picking up his pack from where he’d dropped it in his mad dash to get to Dandelion.

The Siren sat up expectantly. “Geralt, you spoil me, truly you do.”

“I know,” said the Witcher gruffly.

Dandelion beamed and settled back in his chair, watching the Witcher with hopeful eyes. “Would you mind cooking it?”

It wasn’t too strange of request. After the first time he’d eaten in front of Geralt, devouring the raw fish with blood dripping from his mouth, he had taken to cooking his food instead. It seemed that since he had failed to get any reaction out of Geralt with his antics he had done what he wanted with the food.

Geralt stuck the fish on a skewer and placed them over the fire, sitting back on his knees and closed his eyes, allowing his body to relax for the first time since he’d found the wounded man.

 _They poisoned it,_ Dandelion had said said.

_The villagers?_

_Who else._

Clearly they’d realized Geralt wasn’t killing him fast enough. _Why haven’t they moved on him before? Why not poison him instead of trying to hire a Witcher?_ Neither Dandelion nor the villagers were telling him the whole story, they all knew more than he did. He wasn’t the monster the villagers claimed.

Dandelion claimed to have been trapped by a mage, but the villagers hadn’t mentioned it, and in his wandering around the area over the past weeks Geralt hadn’t seen any sign of one. And there wasn’t a spell over the tower, nothing that made his medallion vibrate, so-

Dandelion’s voice broke through his thoughts, “Perhaps a blanket, Geralt? Or shirt at least? I know I’m a sight to behold by any standard, but I’m rather chilled.”

Lurched out of his thoughts he looked over at Dandelion. The siren had his usual, impish smile on his face, although slightly haggard. His legs were crossed, which did covered his genitals, at least a bit, but the rest of him was on full display and covered in goosebumps. “Pleaseeeeee?” He fluttered his eyes lashes playfully. 

Geralt grabbed the fish off the fire, deciding it was cooked enough. “Eat your food first,” he said, tossing the fish into the siren’s lap before taking the ladder back upstairs to where he had found Dandelion. He took a moment to survey his surroundings, something he hadn’t bothered to do when he’d found the injured man.

It was too short for Geralt to stand properly, except in the very center of the room, and the ceiling slanted down, finally meeting the floor at the edge of the room. Most of the floorspace was taken up by and furs which lay scattered about with no organization.

There was nothing that told him anything about the siren, except that he liked soft, fine things. 

Before Dandelion could start to wonder where he was, Geralt grabbed a blanket and climbed back down the ladder.

Dandelion was eating happily, ripping into the fish with his teeth, dropping scales on his lap as he ate.

Geralt draped the blanket around his shoulders and knelt beside him, placing a hand on his neck to feel his pulse. “You’ll be alright,” he promised.

“Of course I will,” said Dandelion with a tired smile. “I have my Witcher to protect me.”

* * *

Even after being poisoned, Dandelion refused to give Geralt any more information on the curse.

He spent two days with him, afraid of what might happen if he let him out of his sight. During those days he searched the rooms whenever he could get away from Dandelion, but there was only so much he could do, since the siren tended to demand attention and most likely wouldn’t look kindly on Geralt searching his things.

But he was pleasant enough company, and the thought of leaving him alone didn’t sit easy with the Witcher.

“I can’t keep doing this forever, you know,” Geralt said, poking at the fire with the poker.

Dandelion paused, his hand hovering over the book he was reading. “I’ll die without you,” he whined, kicking his leg dramatically, letting it land on the arm of his chair, exposing his crotch. It seemed his responce to the possibility of Geralt leaving never changed: trying to seduce him. _At least he's fully clothed_ , Geralt thought. 

“Then let me help you break the curse.” He very pointedly did not look at Dandelion, who had draped one hand over his crotch, pretending to merely scratch an itch. 

“You can’t.”

“Why not?” demanded Geralt. “Are you cursed to not be able to help me? Is that part of the curse? I have to solve this myself?” He’d seen curses like that before, where an outside party had to solve it without help from the afflicted individual.

But Dandelion shook his head quickly, and something told Geralt that it was entirely his choice to remain silent. “Ah, no-”

“Then why won’t you let me help you?”

Dandelion looked away, his fingers wrapping tightly around the edges of the book he was reading. His foot dropped off the arm of the chair and he pulled his knees in toward himself. “You should leave,” he whispered.

So Geralt play the one last card he still had, asking, “Why should I do that, _Julian_?”

The creature’s entire demeanor changed immediately. “Where did you hear that name?” he growled, pushing himself to his feet, his eyes flashing.

“It’s on your diploma.” Geralt gestured to the leather tome and the Siren followed his gaze, slightly panicked.

“Get out.”

“I’m here to help you.”

“Damn your help!” In an instant the bard was on his feet, shoving Geralt toward the window. “Get out!” Siren song didn’t affect Geralt the way it did humans, didn't compel him against his will, but as he stumbled toward the window, grabbing for the rope, the Siren opened its mouth and screeched.

A stab of pain went through Geralt’s head and he squeezed his eyes shut, clamping his hands over his ears. “Shut up!” he shouted.

The Siren fell silent, but the next thing he knew, they were both on the ground, thin fingers wrapping around his neck. Geralt’s eyes shot open and met the Siren’s. The room stank of fear and betrayal, all coming off the creature on top of him.

Then the Siren sobbed and let go of Geralt, scrambling back into a corner. “Don’t kill me,” he pleaded, wrapping his arms around his knees and hiding his face. “Please, Geralt, please don’t kill me.” Sobs wracked his body and he whimpered softly, rocking himself pitifully.

Still slightly dazed by the sudden turn of events Geralt sat up, rubbing his head. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

The Siren sniffled and looked up, barely peeking above his knees. “Did my father send you? Is this a test? I told you I can't leave, tell him that. Tell him I obeyed, please Geralt." 

"Your father?" asked Geralt. "What about the fucking mage?"

Dandelion blinked, then wiped away tears with his sleeve. "There's no mage, Geralt," he said softly. "There's no curse. Just a monster." 


	6. Chapter 6

“The fuck?” Geralt couldn't think of anything else to say to respond to the creature's sudden change in mood and behavior.

Dandelion rubbed his knees, for a long moment, saying nothing. Then he sighed, and said, "I suppose he didn't send you, then?" He tilted his head, seeming almost disappointed. For a moment, Geralt assumed he had thought his father had sent a rescue party of some sort, that was, until the Siren said, "I thought he might have finally taken some interest in me, even if he were sending someone to kill me." 

Geralt shook his head, struggling to process. "Your father is involved with the mage?" 

Dandelion shook his head. "Geralt," he said softly, tilting his head and looking too chiding for man who still had tear tracks on his face. "Geralt, there's no mage. There's no curse. I just thought it made for a far more intriguing story that way." 

Geralt sighed and sat on the windowsill. "Then what is the truth?" he asked. "All of it, without any embellishments, please." 

Dandelion leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "My name is Julian Alfred Pankraz, my father is the Viscount de Lettenhove. My mother, as you may have guessed, is a Siren." 

"I was raised as a human, although, I can't say my father was ever terribly found of me. I certainly wasn't his favorite child, unless he could boast about my academic prowess that is." 

"Why don't you live with him?" 

Dandelion's eyes opened and he looked back at Geralt, studying him intently. "Well," he said softly. "I'm his oldest son. By rights, I should be his heir." The creature shrugged. "He didn't want me to inherit." 

"Why stay?" Geralt asked. "Why not leave and start over?"

"As what?" Dandelion asked slowly. "I wasn't raised to take care of myself, Geralt, I was raised to be a nobleman. I'm rather good at that, you know." He seemed to be taking several seconds to process his words, which lead Geralt to the conclusion that, despite everything, he was still lying. 

"Why don't you tell me the reason reason, Julian?" Geralt asked.

"Don't call me that," spat the Siren. "And, for your information, you pompous prick, I am telling you-"

"Only part of the truth," Geralt interrupted. 

Dandelion narrowed his eyes and scowled. "I don't have to tell you anything, you know?" he asked haughtily. 

"No," Geralt agreed. "You don't." He pushed himself to his feet, turning back toward the window. "Goodbye Dandelion," he said. 

"What?" spluttered Dandelion. The Siren jumped to his feet, his eyes wide. "Where are you going? Geralt, come back here!" 

Geralt ignored him. 

"Geralt!" But the Witcher continued to ignore him, and Dandelion finally fell silent as he reached the ground.

When he climbed out of the Siren's window, he fully intended to leave and not return. Not ever. But by the time he'd reached Roach, taken her reins, and started walking away, he'd conceded that perhaps he would just give the Siren a few days to sulk in misery. By the time he reached the town, he'd already decided that the best use of his time would be to find out more about the Viscount de Lettenhove.

After all, he reasoned, if a man had a relationship with a Siren, it was worth investigating. There could be more Sirens in the area, and some were no doubt far more dangerous than Dandelion. As a Witcher, it was his duty to know about that. 

It had nothing to do with Dandelion.

The first thing he did was return to the inn, stabling Roach so that she could have a much needed rest and fresh oats and so that he could sleep in a real bed that night. 

Then he went back into the town. It wasn't easy to get information, not when he clearly stood out as a Witcher who had been hanging around for so long. Openly asking about the local Viscount wouldn't gain him any favors. 

So he went back to the man who'd originally given him the contract on Dandelion.

"What do ya mean it ain't dead yet?" 

"What's the Siren's connection to the Viscount?" 

The man swallowed. "Ain't none as far as-"

"Don't lie," snapped Geralt.

"Look," the man said. "It ain't no use ta anyone out there in those woods." 

"If I kill it," Geralt said with a scowl. "Then I need to know if I'm going to be pissing off any local noblemen. Far too often I've found that those considered by some to be "monsters" are happily protected by local nobility with a flare for the rare and dramatic." 

The man looked away uneasily. "Look," he said, "I know the Viscount won't be missin' it, and that's all I can say." 

"He wouldn't miss the Siren?" Geralt repeated. 

"No sir," said the man, still avoiding Geralt's eyes. "He might even thank you."

Seeing that he would get no more information out of the man, Geralt turned on his heel and stomped away without a farewell. It was still alarmingly clear that people didn't want to talk about Dandelion, even if they didn't like him. They just wanted him to disappear so that they could pretend he'd never existed. 

With nothing else to do, and given the fact that the sun was rapidly setting, Geralt returned to the inn, overpaid for his food, and sat in a corner to eat in silence. 

Alone in his corner he could watch the people around him chatter on, listening for anything that might provide him with information. But so far, all he'd learned was about a sheepherder who had impregnated the baker's daughter.

Worthless.

The door to the tavern opened and a well dressed man stepped in. A finely made hood was pulled over his face, and he didn't lower it when he entered. Most of the patrons didn't notice him at all, but Geralt studied him intently, watching the way he crept into the room, as though uncomfortable with his surroundings. 

He approached the bar, talking to the innkeeper for a moment. The innkeeper nodded and answered him. Then pointed to Geralt. 


	7. Chapter 7

Geralt wrapped his hand around his knife as the cloaked man approached him, his head still bowed slightly to shield his face. He sat across from Geralt, then slowly looked up.

Familiar blue eyes peered out at him. "Please, don't stab me," begged Dandelion. 

"What are you doing here?" Geralt asked sharply.

"Well," said Dandelion, and Geralt immediately knew that every word out of his mouth would be a lie. "I thought that it might be pleasant to get some fresh air, you know?" 

"Bullshit." 

"You're quite right about that, Geralt, it stinks in here." 

"What do you want? The truth, if you don't mind." 

Dandelion's cast a furtive glance around them, checking that none of the villagers were within hearing range. "I meant to find you before you, ah, drew too much attention to yourself." 

"Why?"

The Siren chewed on his lip, keeping his eyes turned away from Geralt. "Word might reach the wrong person."

Geralt stood, jerking his head back. "I have a room." 

Dandelion trailed along behind him, pulling at the sleeves on his shirt as they went. He didn't relax once they entered Geralt's room, but he did but down his hood. "You cannot ask questions," Dandelion said. "You need to leave town, now, or-"

"Or what?" 

"My father will hear and he'll know that I've spoken to you which would cause a great deal of trouble for us both." 

Geralt watched him, the way his eyes flicked toward the door, how he gripped his hands tightly together, rubbing his wrists nervously. He reminded Geralt of an abused horse that he'd once attempted to rehabilitate. "You're afraid of him." 

"Of course I'm not-" 

"Dandelion." 

"Well, alright, perhaps a little, but-"

"Then _leave_."

Another sigh and a shake of his head. "He would find me," whispered Dandelion.

"How do you know that?"

"He always does. I-" He raised one trembling hand, as though to make a point, then lowered it again and licked his lips. "I left once before." 

"He found you?" 

Dandelion nodded. Then he said, "He said that if I left again, he would send a WItcher after me." 

Geralt studied him. "That's why you thought he sent me?" 

"Yes." The Siren dropped onto the small bed, leaning against the headboard. "I've always known I was living on borrowed time, Geralt. I cannot survive in that tower and I cannot leave it. My story would be a beautiful tragedy, you know? Except it would be far more interesting if I were a beautiful maiden, saved by a handsome prince-" 

Geralt snorted. "You could pass for a maiden, the way you dress." 

"Geralt!" The bard shook his head, and almost seemed to grin. Then, just as quickly, his smile faded and his head dropped back against the wall. "Perhaps I shall write it," he said softly. 

"You should," agreed Geralt. "But you have to leave the tower if you want to share it with anyone." 

"I can't-" 

"Why not?" Geralt folded his arms over chest. "Your father wants to send a Witcher after you? Let him. I'll take the contract and tell him you're dead." 

For a moment he seemed hopeful, then she shook his head. "Too many people know me, Geralt. I wasn't exactly inconspicuous during my tenure at Oxenfurt." 

Geralt glared out the window as he thought. "No Witcher would take a contract on you. You've never harmed anyone. We don't kill innocents." 

Dandelion's voice was barely a whisper as he said, "Who said I was innocent?" 

Geralt's blood ran cold. "Have you killed someone?" 

Slowly the siren nodded. "The last time I left, my father sent mercenaries after me. They-" He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing. "They hurt me, Geralt. I let them, I didn't want to hurt them. They beat me." His voice was barely a whisper, his eyes wide. "I had webbing, between my toes- it- it isn't there anymore, Geralt." 

The Witcher's eyes widened, his jaw clenching, but before he could form words, Dandelion continued, "They were going to cut off my gills." He tilted his head, then smiled at Geralt, flashing pointed teeth, his eyes sad. "I started singing." 

"They killed themselves?" Geralt guessed.

Dandelion nodded. "I was rather proud of myself, you know? I'd never controlled someone like that before." He snorted. "Then I threw up." 

"How did you end up back in the tower?" 

"I went back," Dandelion said. "They were right after all, Geralt. I'm a monster." 

"No," Geralt said. "You're not a monster, Dandelion. You were defending yourself." 

"My father paraded their remains through town. Everyone here saw it, Geralt. They all know what I did. If I left, he could turn the world against me." 

"No one from the School of the Wolf would take a contract on you," Geralt said after a moment. "The others- some of them I could reason with." 

"What about humans? The villagers poisoned my water. How long until they fetch their pitchforks?" Dandelion shook his head. "I have to go back." 

"I'll think of something," Geralt promised. 

Dandelion looked up at him, cocking his head. "Why do you care so much, Geralt?" 

"I don't know." 

The siren blinked, then he slowly smiled. "I do," he said. 

"Oh, you do?" 

Dandelion nodded smugly. "We're both monsters, Geralt," he said. "We have been tried and found guilty in the public's eye, without ever having met us. You're the Butcher of Blaviken, and I make men rip out their own throats. It hardly seems fair I don't have a catchy nickname myself, you know?"

"You're not a monster-"

"By definition, yes, I am." Dandelion shrugged. "I would say a Witcher isn't a monster, but I know you would disagree. So instead, perhaps we would be better off agreeing that merely being a monster doesn't make one monstrous." 

"Do you believe that?" 

"When I'm in a good mood." 

Dandelion tapped his fingers on the bedside table. "I should go," he said quietly. 

"There are monsters out," Geralt said, glancing out the window into the dark. 

"Well," the bard smiled. "It's a good thing I have a big, scary monster hunter to protect me." 

Geralt rolled his eyes. "Fine," he grumbled. "I'll take you back." 

They slipped out through the back door of the inn, Geralt keeping a sharp eye out as Dandelion studied their surroundings eagerly. He seemed fascinated by everything and - despite his earlier plans - in no hurry to return to his tower. 

But Geralt didn't want to wait around for someone to see him, and ushered him to the stable. The Siren cooed and petted Roach as Geralt tacked her up, and was utterly delighted when Geralt boosted him into the saddle before swinging up behind him. 

He didn't feel the need to hurry once they were out of town, and let Roach amble along at a slow pace. Dandelion leaned back against him closing his eyes. "Stay with me," he begged. 

"I can't."

"Why ever not?" Dandelion smiled, closing his eyes. "I could sing to the villagers and make them bring us anything we wanted. You would never be called a Butcher again, and my father could not possibly fault me for having company, so long as I stayed where he wanted me." 

"I'm a Witcher, Dandelion. We don't retire."

Dandelion sighed, his shoulders drooping. "No," he said, "I suppose you don't." 

They lapsed into silence as they neared the tower, Dandelion sighing dramatically at the sight of it. He jumped off the saddle before Geralt, giving Roach a last scratch between her ears.

"I didn't see you as a climber," Geralt admitted as they stood at the bottom of the tower. 

"Oh I'm not," promised Dandelion. He grinned. "There's a door." 

Geralt glared at him as he stepped behind a bush and pressed his fingers into a gap in the stones, causing a door to swing open. "Ass." 

"I have a very fine ass indeed," chortled Dandelion. "Don't you think?" 

Geralt rolled his eyes, looking away.

The siren sighed. "Geralt you are either the most obtuse man I've ever met or the most stubborn. Perhaps both. So I shall only say this once: I wish to bed you." 

"I know." 

"Well?" Dandelion folded his arms over his chest. "Are you coming with me or not?"

"It'll give you something to look forward to." Geralt grinned.

The siren preened. "Oh I shall look forward to it very much indeed," he promised. "In fact, I believe I might go and have a bit of practice by myself, you know?" 

"Have fun." 

"I will." Then he winked and was gone, the door melting back into the wall. 

Geralt waited for a moment, making sure Dandelion wasn't about to change his mind and run back. Once he was satisfied that the creature was safe, at least for the time being, he turned back to his horse. Roach snorted. "Come on girl," Geralt said, scratching her forehead and taking her reins. "We have an appointment with the Viscount." 


End file.
